Memories get Locked in Picture Frames
by Gypsy Feet
Summary: There’s something there, you acknowledge, but then not quite. It makes you lonely. xOneshotx


**Memories get Locked in Picture Frames**

**By: **Emmy

**Spoilers:** None really, except about Cuddy. And it's kinda AU I suppose.

**Summary:** There's something there, you acknowledge, but then not quite. It makes you lonely. xOneshotx

**A/N:** Well. My Cuddy muse is apparently on steroids. Because 3,300 (9 pages on Word) words is hell of a lot really. Especially for a casual oneshot. But yeah. Sorry S.A.R.D. I apparently did end up writing a Cuddy POV. You'll have to excuse my unoriginality. And yeah. Review if you liked it, etc, etc.

II

**_015.if you feel scared, a bit confused,  
I gotta say, this sounds a little  
beyond anything I'm used to_**

II

Smell is the sense that is most closely connected to memory. Seriously. You'd know. You read it on the wrapper of a Libra pad when you were at some conference in Australia. And clearly the people that write trivia on pad wrappings would know what they're talking about. It's exactly like saying gravity makes things go down.

Except not quite.

II

You're bent over your desk and feeling like a complete idiot. Sometimes you wonder why on earth House does things like this. Sometimes you wonder how he can be an ass and a gentleman at the same time. Sometimes you wonder why humans don't evolve beyond having little toes. They're ugly at this point in human evolution, and you really don't like them.

Sometimes you wonder if you're insane or simply exhausted.

"I like doing this," he murmurs in your ear as he rubs the antibacterial (you hate that smell) swab on your butt.

You bite your lip and swallow a rude comment. You need him to do this. Because the alternative is getting Wilson to do it (sometimes you think it's a little sad that those two are your only options, it makes you miss having a social life more than ever) and that's just not a good idea.

There's a prick that's there and gone before you can really react and your skirt drops back down. He pats your arse one more time and doesn't quite achieve his innocent look when you turn to glare at him.

You grab your Venti Starbucks Long Black and take a gulp. It's as bitter as it smells and halfway to awful, but you need the pick-me-up more than you'll admit. You turn to face him when he sighs.

"What?" you ask him, because you're his boss (definitely not his friend) and you should know what's sigh-worthy.

He looks at you a moment and his eyes are very blue and he's sizing you up. He walks over to your doors, opens the blinds and sees Dr Cameron. He watches her thoughtfully and you notice the tail end of something soft wash over his face. There's something there, you acknowledge, but then not quite.

It makes you lonely.

He turns to you with a smirk and you know, _know_, that he's made his decision.

"Don't suppose you feel like having hot sex on my desk?" he says, but he's just teasing and really.

"We'll have to make it fast," you tell him seriously, "I have a meeting in ten minutes."

He almost laughs, you note, looks at the ceiling and snorts a little. His scowl flickers into something lighter that makes you wonder how much of this is for you. He doesn't say anything else, just shuffles out and leaves you alone.

You watch as he scares Dr Cameron from behind. He gets hit on the shoulder with someone's charts for his efforts and rubs dramatically in a plea for pity.

He doesn't get it.

Instead the younger woman tells him something animatedly with a half-smile curling on her lips. He laughs at whatever is said. Actually laughs. But you aren't jealous. No way. Not when he places his hand on the small of her back and guides her towards the elevators, either.

Just… it might be nice if you had those sorts of moments with someone, as well.

Before they leave your line of sight he turns and mouths something exaggeratedly in your direction. You aren't exactly sure what.

It's definitely not 'She'll do'.

No way.

II

You're busy trying to concentrate on the pile of administrative papers you have to get done before lunch when Dr Cameron comes in. You think that you must be really bored, because you keep thinking about the way Wilson was looking at you yesterday. Or maybe it's just that smell: paperwork, old books and leather. She walks in halfway through a daydream and you wonder if she noticed that terrible dreamy face you get (you hope not).

You shoot up from your chair and it falls down with a clatter. There's silence as you both turn your attention to it with an obscure variation of fascination. Gravity, your mind hastens to inform you, makes things go down.

"You might want to pick that up," she suggests.

You nod and do exactly that. When you turn around she's got an odd smile on her face. It takes you a moment to figure out that she's laughing at you. It's gentle though, and you bite back the automatic defensive response.

"Can I help you, Dr Cameron?" you ask and flinch at how formal it sounds.

She looks a little uncomfortable too, you notice, and find yourself wishing that there was a quick and painless way of moving past this awkward acquaintances stage in your relationship.

She's younger than you, and something about her character makes you want to patronise her. But there's something darker hiding behind the way she treats people, and that scares you.

You wonder if she realises how terrifying she can be, in those moments when she acts human.

She sighs and moves closer to you. There's a moment when she wavers with an internal decision before finally dropping her eyes and slipping her hand along the edge of a frame on your desk. She stands like that a moment, silent and thoughtful.

She's smells a little familiar. Like Pantene conditioner and something else that's almost fruity. Her perfume, one you've smelt before. You run through names in your head as you watch her.

"It's just," she sighs, meets your eyes and chews a lip. "I – uh, you – you – he –"

She stops and let's out a little laugh that's mostly a sigh and a bit of a sob too. It wavers brokenly in the air and you cringe in its presence. She's hurting (and it's big enough to hurt you a bit, too) and the fact that she isn't hiding it scares you. There's something you should do right about now, you think, but you've got no idea what that is.

So you stand and watch.

You both jump when the doors slam open and House walks in with Wilson hot on his heels. There's another pause as everyone involved takes a timeout to put the pieces together. It's almost shifty and you're reminded of those moments in movies where everyone only knows a bit of the truth (you hate them because they're stupid and cliché) but are too thick to share the knowledge.

"What's going on?" you ask, caught somewhere between desperation and resignation, a million terrible scenarios dancing behind your eyes.

House is watching Dr Cameron quietly and after a moment she returns his gaze. Something happens and suddenly you feel very much uncomfortable. You turn to face Wilson and he smiles a little bewilderedly. Then House grabs Cameron by the forearm and you think (about how much you wish someone out there liked you enough to drag you places by your forearm. Then you wonder if you're insane) that this isn't for you to deal with.

Wilson doesn't follow them, just stands a little awkwardly in a corner before walking over to your side and leaning on your desk.

"That was exciting," he tells you animatedly.

"Do I want to know?" you ask slowly.

"Probably not," he replies easily, and brushes a (ringless) hand along the collar of your shirt.

You take a deep breath and think _moon-something_.

Dr Cameron was wearing Moon-something.

From the Body Shop.

You laugh a little and capture Wilson's hand in yours. He doesn't ask, but there's something in the way he's watching you. You wonder how easily he falls in love. There's something about him that makes you wish—but you're friends.

Just friends.

II

You found Dr Cameron in the lab. You wish you hadn't found her so fast because you were only halfway to thinking of an excuse for talking with her that didn't sound lame. She was shaking a test-tube of something that looked suspiciously like blood. Tapping a beat on the counter with her spare hand.

You enter without knocking and she spins to stare at you, her free hand slipping up to her face and pushing her glasses back up. She has her hair pulled up in a messy bun, and a piece she missed is dangling down her neck. You fight the compulsion to remind her about hospital protocol.

"Is something wrong with me?" you ask, and then remember that that wasn't what you were meant to say at all.

She pauses carefully and places the test-tube on a rack. Tilts her head and crosses her legs at the ankle. There's something lighter about her, and you wonder how many times you've seen her smile. Really smile.

"Did you vote for Bush?" she returns casually, and her lips flicker with amusement.

You run a hand through your hair and breathe a laugh. There's a smile on your mouth and you remember a time when you had these sorts of conversations all the time. You miss having a friend that wears a skirt and smiles.

"No," you reply and sit on the bench, hospital protocols be damned. You ponder saying something stupid and decide that you should try living on the edge. "But I can't get that Shakira song out of my head."

She bites her lips in an attempt to hide a smile. Then she turns to face you properly and her eyebrow floats up a little.

"The," here she hums a little to get the rhythm right and does a silly wiggle of her hips before carefully singing, "… hips don't lie…" there's a pause and she stops. "I don't know the rest of the words."

You nod quietly and marvel at her wry tone. You're surprised because you could have sworn she was too serious to act this casual. But then you remember how young she is and the way you sometimes see her act around Dr Foreman and Dr Chase.

You notice her attention catch on something or someone over your shoulder and turn to see House midway through some variation of sign language. He pulls a face of annoyance and frowns accusingly at Dr Cameron. You mouth 'clinic' at him because that is where he's meant to be. He just rolls his eyes and laughs at you when you cross your arms. Walks in a moment later and over to Dr Cameron.

"Clear?" he asks her and looks self-satisfied when she nods. "Thought so. Go get me lunch."

"Sir, yes sir," she replies sarcastically and turns on her heal.

He does an absurd mock hip rock as she passes and laughs when she shoots him a glare. There's an awkward pause after she's left and he turns to you. He watches as you carefully slide off the counter and prepare yourself to yell at him.

"I'll think up an excuse later," he offers and walks off.

You smile to yourself alone in the lab and nod.

_Typical_, you think.

Then you get distracted by the chemically smell and sneeze.

II

"So I was thinking," you tell Wilson (James), "that I might buy a new TV."

The both of you are sitting at a table in the cafeteria. You could pick the venue just from the smell. Bad food and lots of people. It's haunted you your entire life and just once you'd like to smell it and not remember that time you fell down and spilt your lunch in front of half the school. That was the worst lunchtime ever.

In the history of lunchtimes.

You can't remember how the topic came up. But he was talking about something trivial so you decided that you might as well join in. He's looking at you a little curiously and it's making your heart beat at double time for some reason.

His knee accidentally bumps your's underneath the table.

"Uh oh," you hear and turn.

House is standing a little behind you holding his lunch. Cameron is frowning at him from around her milkshake. Chase and Foreman are sharing a look and you're a little intrigued by the distinctly self-satisfied expression on Chase's face. It's making you nervous.

"What?" you say, and it comes out sounding harsher than you intended.

"House," Dr Cameron says a second later, and there's something about the way she says his name that catches your attention.

He turns to face her with a mix of patronising annoyance and something warmer.

"How about you be quiet and go and find us a table," he says in mock baby-voice and gives her a little push with his cane, "There's a good girl."

She pulls a face at him but stays where she is, to the apparent amusement of the other two. You turn to face Wilson again and notice the strange look he's giving House. It's getting harder to shake the feeling of being caught out doing something wrong. You turn again and notice that House has returned his attention to all three of his companions.

"Forman owes everyone twenty bucks!" he says with a degree of delight.

You get an icy feeling in your stomach.

"Why?" you ask and turn to face Wilson briefly when he makes a little noise.

He looks like someone who's fingers are being meticulously broken and then twisted slowly around and around and around. Which would be quite painful (you imagine). House has the look of someone who has just won the lotto, as opposed to twenty dollars.

He makes pathetic kissing noises and you think you might like to die – as in: now.

Really.

"Cuddy and Wilson are a-bed shakin' and baby makin'," he half singsongs in a silly voice.

You wonder if he made that rhyme up.

"House—"

"Let's go," Dr Cameron interrupts Wilson, and steers House away from your table.

You wonder if you've ever liked anyone more than at that moment. And then you remember that she was a part of that bet too and decide that there really needs to be consequences for this.

Serious consequences.

"He can be a bastard sometimes," Wilson offers.

You nod and shudder when his knee hits yours again. Accidentally. You're friends, you tell yourself.

Just friends.

II

You see her in the supermarket one day. Just next to the hair care section. With skinny-leg jeans on, a stripy scarf that's slowly unwrapping itself from around her neck and her hair tumbling down her back from underneath a beanie. You fight a pang of jealousy, she's reminding you of those jeans models that you always see: young and pretty and far too skinny. Her head is tilted to hold a mobile on her shoulder. Whoever she's talking to must be funny, since she's got a wide, bright smile on her face.

It makes you wonder.

You think about leaving until she notices you, and waves you over. You straighten your back and walk over. Watch her side of the conversation as she tries to end it.

"No you—I don't care! What?" here she rolls her eyes and bites her bottom lip, "'kay whatever. No you don't. Bye."

There's something gentle about her voice there, affectionate and annoyed and a little bit sad. It isn't how you'd imagine Dr Cameron on the phone. But then, you don't really imagine many of your employees on the phone. She pauses just a little as she slips her phone into a pocket, a hesitation that you only just catch, and like her more for it.

"Hey," she says with a grin, but it's more distant than the one she gave the person on the phone, and you remember how much separates you from her.

"Hi," neither of you are quite sure what to call the other, so names aren't mentioned. "Shopping on your day off?"

She lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug and runs her hand along the bottles. Picks out some Pantene conditioner and you smile because you _knew_—

"Got to get it done sometime," she offers, and slips the conditioner into her basket.

Her phone rings again, and you watch as she digs in her pocket and furrows a brow. Unexpected, you decide, and fight off a sneeze as a man with way too much Lynx walks past. She stares at the screen a moment before warily answering.

"Alison Cameron speaking," she smiles as the person on the other end says something. Her face falls to a softer, more tired expression as the person continues and she looks almost lost for a moment. "This is my day off."

House, maybe, you think and watch as the younger woman battles with disappointment.

"How bad?" she asks and her voice is tinged with concern, you marvel at her expressions and how quiet they as they change. "I know," She snaps and you think to yourself: definitely House. "I wanted to get changed—yes I _know_—okay I'll be right in. I don't know—'kay. Alright Hou—_alright_. I'm going now. You—I don't care. _Goodbye_."

A smile is pulling at your lips at the way she reacts to him and you think—there's almost something there, between them.

"I won't keep you," you offer, for formality's sake.

She smiles her thanks and walks off speedily, there's a steady _slap-slap_ of bare flesh hitting floor and you chuckle when you notice she's barefoot. It's something so _casual_ and so out of place that you catch yourself staring.

She goes to the busiest cash register in the whole building and you laugh.

_Repayment_ rings in your head, and you think House deserves it.

II

You see them together in the clinic about a week later. Dr Cameron standing next to House with a file in her hands. According to his complaints this morning she wanted him to look into a patient that was perfectly healthy.

Or something.

He's rolling his eyes at her and saying something rude, judging by how wide his eyes are. Dr Cameron goes very still all of a sudden, which stops House as well. Then she tilts her head at him and says something.

He carefully takes the charts from her and she smiles triumphantly and says something else.

In return he tugs on a lock of her hair and smiles almost softly.

Things are changing with them, slowly shifting into unknown territory.

You wonder how much of it is chance and how much is fate.

You turn when Wilson stands next to you, his arm warm against your's.

"Have they kissed yet?" he asks wryly.

You shake your head and brush your hand against his. His breath comes out all at once and you wonder at it. But then he traces a pattern on the inside of your wrist and you only don't pull your hand away because it would be rude. Neither of you say anything else (you're scared of how much your voice will reveal), just stand and watch them leave.

Just friends, you remind yourself.

"Yeah right," you murmur, and shrug Wilson's questioning gaze off.

He just smiles a little and leans closer to you.

He smells like man.

II

You're bent over your desk and feeling like a complete idiot. But that's okay because you've got a question that will turn the tables.

"So…" you say (and smirk a little in preparation), "Cameron—" except then he injects you very viciously. "Ouch."

"Oops," he says in a remarkably unapologetic fashion.

You forgive him on the basis that you got your answer, and you can tell by the way he's looking at you he'd rather you didn't. So you smile and mime locking your lips shut.

He opens the door and comes face to face with Wilson.

"Wilson!" he, in fact, says, "What a surprise!" except he doesn't sound surprised in the slightest.

He turns and faces you, mimes locking his lips shut.

You give him the finger.

II

.end.

II


End file.
